Father
by Foxtrotter44
Summary: "He cannot help but mourn the father he never knew, and he hates himself for it." A series of vignettes featuring multiple characters (mainly from Origins, but I might include some DA2 characters as well), all about Dragon Age fathers and fatherhood, some humorous, others not so much. Multi-chapter fic.
1. Simple Questions

A/N: So yesterday was Fathers' Day, and I was inspired to write something in honor of that. SO. This is going to be several chapters long, each about a specific character and his/her relationship to his/her father, and vice-versa.

First up: Morrigan's son is curious about the parent he's never met.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, the Dragon Age world, etc. etc.

* * *

"Mama? Can I ask you some questions?"

Morrigan looks down at the child standing before her and smiles. _So curious_ is the little one. "You may ask, Sweet Thing, and I may choose not to answer."

"Who is my father?"

Morrigan scowls. _Too curious. _"_Who he is_ is not important. What is important is _from whence you came._ We have spoken of this before."

"Can I meet him one day?"

"No. You will never lay your eyes on him, as he will never see you."

"Why not?"

Morrigan looks away for a moment and stares at the into the fire within the hut as if deep in thought. "Because of a promise," she says softly.

"Did you love him?"

At this Morrigan laughs and looks back into her son's wide golden eyes, torn away from her memories. "Not even remotely."

"Did he love you?"

"He did not."

The little boy's brow furrows, and he sits on the floor as Morrigan prepares a pot in which to boil a stew. After a few quiet minutes, the boy speaks up.

"Mama... Do you think my father loves me?"

Morrigan drops the ladle into the pot, shocked by her son's innocent question. She contemplates her answer: she could tell him that _of course your father loves you _or _no, he could never love you as a parent loves a child, _but she knows both of those answers are incomplete, if not total lies. Of course, she could just refuse to answer entirely, as her mother so often did during Morrigan's youth, but she is not Flemeth. Morrigan looks back into her five-year-old's too-intelligent eyes and decides he deserves the truth, or at least a version of it.

"I believe you mean a great deal to Alis..._your father, _because of what he got in exchange for your birth. There is a woman he loves very much, and many years ago there was a great likelihood that she would perish. I made a deal with him that in exchange for giving me you, she would keep her life. And for that I am certain he is very grateful."

The child nods sagely. Morrigan walks over to him and takes his small hands into her own.

"No more questions now," she says softly. "I do not wish to speak of your father any longer."

"Yes, Mama."

"Now go outside and play, Sweet Thing. The stew shall be ready in twenty minutes."

He nods once before turning to walk towards the door to the hut and mid-stride changes his form into that of a wolf pup, and Morrigan's eyes linger on him a moment longer before she turns back to the stew bubbling over the fire, a small smile playing at her lips, for she is grateful to Alistair for their exchange and what she received as well.

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A/N: Questions? Comments? Concerns? Leave a review please!


	2. Mourning

A/N: Alistair learns of his father's death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my laptop.

* * *

The revered mother leans forward on her desk, her arms resting on its surface and her hands clasped together tightly. Alistair fidgets in his seat, fifteen years old and made of gangly limbs and suddenly too tall for all his clothing and _deathly certain _that the revered mother somehow knows that Alistair had had _that _kind of dream the other night, the kind he's heard some of the other boys whisper about when the Templars aren't around, and he just knows that she's going to have him whipped for his _impure thoughts _and scour the pots in the kitchen _again _because for what other reason would she have him pulled out of class?But for once she's not looking at him with _that look, _the one where her eyes get really squinty and her lips purse and he just knows from that look that he's in trouble _again. _Instead, her eyes just look sad and worrisome, and he hopes that maybe she _doesn't _know about that stupid dream, but then he realizes that he's seen her expression in the eyes of others before: pity. That look is even worse than the other one, and Alistair wonders if he's being sent away again.

"I've received some very sad news today, Boy, news I thought best to tell you in private before it is made public," She says. "King Maric has been declared lost at sea. He is presumed dead."

"Oh."

"Your half-brother Prince Cailan will take the throne." Alistair just remains sitting quietly. The revered mother narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. "Well? Have you anything else to say?"

"Can I go now?"

The revered mother stares into Alistair's face a moment longer and decides now is not an appropriate time to punish the lad for his insolence. "Yes, you may. Please return to class at once."

Alistair does not return to class. He wanders out into the chantry courtyards and sits beneath the tree where he used to hide from the taunting jeers of the other boys years earlier. He looks up at the royal palace looming in the distance and lets the news sink in. His father the King is dead. His brother the Prince is the new King.

He cannot help but mourn the father he never knew, and he hates himself for it.


	3. Thinking of Home

A/N: Fergus thinking of his son while on the road. I wrote this because I am a terrible person.

Disclaimer: Bioware owns Dragon Age. I own a copy of Dragon Age. It's not the same thing.

* * *

"...And so then he says, 'Fear my sword of truthiness!'" Fergus laughs. "Oriana's giving me this exasperated look, but I don't know where he comes up with these things!"

Ser Henry, Fergus's second, chuckles as their horses continue down the road, leading the bulk of Highever's troops to the army camp in the far south. "How old is the boy now? Five?"

"He just turned six a few months ago."

"They're real cute at that age, aren't they?"

"They certainly are." Fergus smiles fondly, thinking of the memory of his little sister promising to teach Oren how to fight. "Of course, I don't know how 'cute' he'll be when we return home and he runs up to me waving a sword around. Elissa's been itching to teach him fighting skills, but my wife won't even let him near wooden weapons."

"To be fair, I wouldn't trust your sister to watch over any small children, with or without the fake weapons," Ser Henry laughs.

"Fair point," Fergus laughs along with his friend.

The men ride along in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the horses' legs trotting against the ground and the many soldiers following behind them.

After a moment, Ser Henry turns in his saddle to face Fergus again. "The lad's got to learn how to handle a sword some time, though. When do you think you'll begin his training?"

"Oh, not for a few years at least. I think I'll just have a wooden one crafted to bring back for him." Fergus sighs wistfully. "Maker, it feels just a few days ago when Oriana was pregnant with him. I can't believe it has actually been six whole years."

"Found any grey in your hair yet?"

"Ha! Hopefully not for a very long time. I'm not _that _old." Fergus looks out onto the horizon, orange and pink with the setting sun. "I think now's a good time to look for a place to set up camp for the night. Ser Henry, ride back and inform the men that we'll be stopping soon. I'll ride ahead to scout out a camp site."

"Yes, my lord."

Fergus kicks his horse into a lope, eager to find a spot quickly so they can get an early start the next morning. The sooner the war (if it even could be called that) is over and he can return to his family, the better.

* * *

A/N: I am so horrible. Oh my god.


	4. Written Secrets

A/N: Snooping is bad, if you're Prince Cailan.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age.

* * *

Cailan stared at the papers littering the ancient mahogany desk. He knew he was not supposed to be in his father's study without permission, but he reasoned that it was every fourteen-year-old's _right _to do some snooping occasionally. When Father's private meetings began was when Cailan would furtively make his way up to the study, using the key he had swiped from one of the servants to enter. Mostly, he never found anything particularly interesting; just Orlesian trade agreements and new tax regulations and other _boring _stuff, and today's snooping expedition had started out no different. However, a series of informal letters between the King and the warden-commander of Ferelden now rested on top of the large pile of papers they had previously been buried (hidden?) under before Cailan had fished them out. He stared at the letters intensely, reading them over and over again until the words burned themselves into his brain, sending his mind spinning with confusion and anger and hurt and betrayal and wonder and-

The doorknob on the door to the study rattled and Cailan hastily stood up, his eyes desperately searching for the clock: had he truly been in the room for over two hours? It had felt like mere minutes.

The door opened and there King Maric stood, eyes wide and brow furrowed with alarm. "Cailan? What are you do-"

"Who's Alistair?"

Maric scanned at his son's angry red face before looking over at the letters displayed on the desk. He then looked back at his son and noticed the tears pricking at the corners of Cailan's eyes.

Maric sighed wearily. "You read my letters."

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"From the look of it, I think you already know the answer."

Cailan narrowed his eyes, desperately holding back the tears threatening to spill out. Fourteen-year-olds most certainly did not ever cry.

Maric walked over to a chair next to the fireplace and sat, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose we have a lot to talk about, then. Sit."

Cailan sat, and listened.

* * *

A/N: So this is probably my favorite short that I've written so far, mainly because I've always wondered how Cailan found out about his brother and what that would mean to him.


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